Space

The past few weeks have been insane.

Rushing around, shooting children's television, shopping for friends and family, tying up loose ends before going on a major trip...nuts!

I take off for a month-long tour of Europe in about 5 days. So much of my time, these past few weeks, has been dedicated to preparing myself for my great adventure, that the fact that I was spending Christmas at home (actually, Christmas, period) was pretty much just an after thought. It mostly just consisted of logging on to Air Canada's website, booking my ticket, printing out my itinerary, and forgetting about it until it was time to go.

Yesterday morning, my sister, her fiance, and myself got up at 4 AM and caught a 6:30 flight to Winnipeg. My dad had left us a car in the airport parking lot, and I drove us to my home town, Portage la Prairie, Manitoba.

I'll be the very first person to admit that, to most, there wouldn't be a whole lot for this town to offer. Its population is about 12,000...which makes it one of the largest of Manitoba's communities. It's situated smack dab in the middle of the wide open prairie, right beside the Trans-Canada highway. Most people just drive right past it. They might stop for a meal at the McDonald's at the end of town, but that's about it. To be honest, it doesn't occupy a lot of my thoughts, either. I grew up here, went to school here, and experienced the myriad of "firsts" that we all encounter in our lifetimes. But I live in a big city now, and have gone through a billion changes. I'm a totally diffent person from the guy I was when I lived here. It will always be "home", but I don't think I'd enjoy living here now.

We got to the house and had the usual family Christmas. I teased my little brother a lot, drank just enough booze to make my Mom dissaprove, and helped fill the tiny little house with the barble and banter that I grew up hearing. We had the neighbors over for Christmas turkey, I took the usual ribbing over being a vegetarian, then we all had one last glass of something, said goodnight and toddled off to bed.

I'm staying in my old bedroom, which is now the office. The house was quiet, and I could hear the wind making it's famaliar whoops and hollars outside my window.

Our house is situated on the far, far south side of town. Further south, there's one street, the highway, then nothing but prairie. To the east and the west, there's a few houses before the town tapers off into long stretches of field. I lay on a mattress on the floor, thinking about my home in Toronto, and the cities I would see in just a few days. Then, as I drifted off to sleep I heard a noise that whisked me straight back to my childhood.

The furnace kicked in.

When I was very young, I used to wait for the furnace to kick in. Once it did, I would drag my pillow and blanket to the heat register, and build a little tent over top of it. I'd lay there with my face pressed against the register, letting the warm air blow up into my face, whistle in my ears, and warm me from head to toe. When it stopped, I would lay there and wait until it kicked in again.

For hours I would lay there. To me, there was no place more safe. Outside our house it was empty, endless, and cold. But on top of that heat register, it was perfect. In the morning I would wake up with red grate-marks embeded on my face, and loud complaints from my dad pouring in outside my door about the "damn furnace" and "this bloody cold hallway".

Lying directly over a heat register doesn't do much for the temperature in the surrounding house.

I've travelled a few thousand miles to be with my family for Christmas. After this, I'm going to travel several thousand miles to places I have only ever heard or read about. These are opportunities I'm very thankful to have. These are places I'm lucky to be able to go to.

But last night, with the wind howling right outside my window, and nothing but endless snow covered fields stretching out in three directions, there was only one place I wanted to be. With one clunk, and a rush of warm air, all the years I've been gone from Portage la Prairie, all the changes I had been through that made Portage seem less like home, simply disappeared.

I grabbed my pillow and blanket, made a little tent over the heat register, and drifted off to sleep.

No matter where I go, or who I become, there's no place like home.

My apologies to dad for the cold hallway in the morning.



Jim out.